


Training Methods

by AngeliaDark



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Aftercare, BDSM elements, Edge Is a Dick, Hint At Edgelord, Ignoring Safe Words, Inappropriate Training Methods, M/M, Swapfell AU, noncon, swapfellcest - Freeform, xladymalice's sympathy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeliaDark/pseuds/AngeliaDark
Summary: Papyrus senses that something is amiss in his Lord’s treatment of him, and decides to find out what it is.  But the reason is worse than he thought.  Swapfell AU





	

This was a commission I wrote for [xladymalice](https://xladymalice.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for her [Sympathy AU in Swapfell](https://xladymalice.tumblr.com/xsympathy).  Her comic for it is totally worth the read! 

I am taking writing commissions now, so if you like my work, check out my [Commission Page](http://angelia-dark.tumblr.com/post/158295452224/opening-up-writing-commissions) and send me a note or a chat!  I also accept [Coffees](https://ko-fi.com/A785GD2) to help perk up my writing mojo!

Alright, enough of the shameless plugging, enjoy!

* * *

 

 

Balance.

Equality.

Mutual respect.

These attributes were especially rare, considering the world they lived in. Balance was scarcely attainable, equality unheard of. And respect...respect was hard-won and easily lost.

But these things were law in Papyrus's relationship with his brother, in any regards.

The past was something that remained mostly unspoken between them as a time when things were different. When they were unbalanced. Unequal. INCOMPLETE. The road to where they were now was hard-won through blood, sweat, tears, and scars, both upon themselves and on others.

Often, Papyrus would muse on the past whilst remaining silent of it, thinking of those nightmarish times where there was no pleasure to the pain and where words hurt instead of communicated. Trial and error was, of course, a must in the life he Sans chose to live, but the trials were perilous and the errors were almost deadly. It was a time that Papyrus was loathed to repeat again, for his sake or Sans's.

He wouldn't deny it to anyone that he rather enjoyed the challenge, ANY challenge, so long as it was made with an established measure of equality in mind. Arrogance had no place in a fight for dominance. His subservience was won, endowed on him by his young Lord who had proven himself worthy of holding the leash.

There was something satisfying and freeing in giving his life over to another whom he could trust with it. Obedience, punishment, complete submission...it was all so rewarding, in every aspect. Papyrus found his needs taken care of; emotional, mental, sexual...Sans didn't skimp on any aspect, and the years taught them each others' cues for needs and wants without a single word being spoken.

And as good as it had gotten, it became easy to notice changes.

Perhaps Papyrus had allowed himself to become too comfortable, too hopeful in his lust and love for his young Lord. It was the only explanation he could allow himself for allowing the minor transgressions to pass before the big ones became obvious.

He was used to his Lord changing faces throughout the years they had been together. From that ignorant blue-eyed doe Sans had been in his youth to the arrogant bitch he'd become in his teenage years, all the way to the thrilling day he went red-eyed and fought tooth and claw for dominance, Papyrus's younger brother had certainly hit more than his fair share of phases and milestones. Which was why, in hindsight, it was easy to disregard it when Sans seemed to...regress.

It wasn't anything too drastic. A harsher tone here, a firmer hand there, an extra snap to commands and gestures that were more demanding rather than communicating. Things that were easy to forgive, forget, and ignore.

But then it began to evolved into something worse, little by little. Sans wouldn't let him leave the house without his collar on full display. His requests were spoken over until he was silenced. And the punishments...

Papyrus was under no delusions that sometimes punishments weren't performed with his own masochism in mind. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the firm, stinging hand of his young Lord rain down on him, took the punishments as they were handed out, and thanked his Lord for them from the bottom of his soul. But THESE punishments....they were petty and full of self-serving sadism with no degree of proper reminders of what a punishment was supposed to be.

It was—it FELT—wrong.

Papyrus tried to rationalize it with excuses; Sans was burdened with work, Sans was stressed, Sans was just having a bad week. But a bad week turned into a bad month, and the bad turned to worse.

He knew it was no mere bad time when Sans would kick his ankles to make him fall into step behind him while they walked. When Sans would cut off his words with short, clipped over-talk. When Sans began manhandling him and speaking in a degrading tone for no reason at all, other than to humiliate and demean without provocation.

It was not like their system; Sans had casual insults—“Dog”, “Mutt”, “Beast”, “Trash”—that were used in the context of their play, that had an implied endearment behind them. But there was nothing but cold spite in his tone, no affection in his words. Sans might as well have been speaking to a cockroach with that degrading tone, rather than his brother and lover. Paired with rough treatment of pushing, shoving, grabbing, tripping, and striking, it was nothing like how it SHOULD be.

And Papyrus was suddenly aware that this wasn't normal, not by their standards.

He pushed back a little, still in a thin mist of denial that this wasn't truly what it was. He went out of his way to make things difficult for Sans all day. He wore two-day-old clothing, he didn't wash the dishes after breakfast, and he refused to walk behind Sans, keeping vigilant to keep from being tripped again, which visibly infuriated Sans further.

Papyrus went through his workday without seeing Sans until it was time to go home, waiting for his brother in the lab lobby with a cigarette he wasn't supposed to have lit between his teeth as he pondered over his brother's behavior. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice Sans's arrival until his younger brought him to his knees with a rough kick to the back of his shins.

“You'll kneel when your Lord is in your presence!” Sans snapped. “We're going home.” He took the lead out of the labs, pausing when Undyne rushed up to Papyrus, holding out a file.

“Papyrus, you forgot Napstaton's file,” she said. Papyrus nodded and lifted his hand to take it, only to have his hand slapped away as Sans took it instead.

“He'll get to it later,” Sans said. “After he's done with his other work at home.”

Undyne gave Sans an odd look before glancing back at Papyrus. “...just make sure you get to go over, we need to work on the components tomorrow.”

Papyrus nodded. “I'll be sure to—“

“He'll get to it when he gets to it,” Sans interrupted, grabbing Papyrus's coat collar and jerking him to the door. “Home, scum! Now!”

Papyrus felt his hands clench into fists as he was practically dragged out of the labs and brought along for a shortcut right to their home, where he was punched—PUNCHED—to the floor.

Sans didn't give him time to process that before he pinned Papyrus to the floor by a boot to the sternum, reaching into his belt pouch and taking out a chain leash. “You have been nothing but a rock in my boot ALL DAMN DAY,” he hissed. “It makes me wonder if that grace period of work I allow you to have with Undyne is making you so unruly.” He stretched the length of chain between his hands. “If that's the case, then I will have to keep you chained to my side every moment of every day until you learn your place!”

Papyrus glowered up at his brother, feeling his patience crumble. “You are being unreasonable, m'Lord!” he retorted. “There is nothing that's—“ He cut off with a hiss when Sans snapped the chain at him, catching him on the cheekbone.

“You will address me properly, trash!” Sans snapped. “Or I will punish you until you DO!”

“Sans, that's enough!” Papyrus growled, pushing up off the floor, straining under the weight Sans put on his chest and letting out a sharp hiss when the chain hit him again.

“ADDRESS ME PROPERLY!” Sans kicked Papyrus's skull, driving the taller Skeleton to the floor again before drawing his arm back and hitting Papyrus again. “I AM YOUR LORD, YOU DISGUSTING BEAST! YOU WILL SHOW ME THE PROPER RESPECT!”

“SANS, STOP!” Papyrus snatched the chain when it was struck out at him again, jerking it out of Sans's hand and tossing it to the other end of the room. “That's ENOUGH, Sans, Game Over!”

It was over, he thought, feeling a weight of shame and distaste that it had come to using their end-all safe word, something they hadn't done in nearly a year. He looked up at his brother for an explanation, and felt his soul drop when despite the safe word being spoken—

His brother had his hand drawn back to strike him again.

The spike of disbelief must have shown on his face because Sans's hand didn't strike out. There was a deafening silence between them as Sans's raised hand trembled before falling to his side, his expression unreadable as he stepped away from Papyrus, turned on heel, and stalked upstairs. The door slammed shut moments later, and Papyrus could only sit there in agonizing silence, wondering what the hell had just happened.

There were very few concrete rules that they followed in this life of theirs, but the golden rule, the one most sacred above all others, was that when the safe word was spoken, it was obeyed without exception. They had several levels of safe words they used, for different reasons.

Their monikers for one another was part of their play; using their real names in addressing one another was a subtle sign that something needed to be changed up in some way. 'Reset' was used to retain their roles, but pause the situation they were in. And 'Game Over' was the big huge ABORT button that let them both know everything was to be dropped. 'M'Lord' and his 'dog' were gone, their roles suspended, and the situation was wiped clean.

Game Over was so sacred to them that Papyrus had halted a killing blow to a Monster who had laid hand on his Lord, when Sans spoke it. It was something that bled into their souls, where it was to be obeyed without question, without explanation.

And Sans had raised his hand after it was spoken.

As far as rules and consequences went, Sans had done something both would consider unforgivable.

And Papyrus, bleeding from his wounds, hands shaking as he lit up a cigarette to numb his nerves, wanted to know why.

* * *

 

Sans didn't speak to him for the rest of the evening and well after night hours, remaining locked in his room while Papyrus cleaned himself up and pondered over the mystery of his brother's change in attitude.

He remained in his own room—a rarity in and of itself considering they frequently shared a room—and pondered over it until fatigue overcame him, quietly drifting off to a shallow sleep. His light dreams still went over the past weeks, seeing the subtle changes now from another point of view and seeing the progression of bad to worse in his Lord's behavior.

The image of Sans raising his hand, eyelights blazing and apparently deaf to their safe word, jerked him awake with a spark of fear that made him absolutely angry to even feel. He should never feel that way about Sans, his brother, his little Lord. But it was fear nonetheless. He rubbed his face and groped around for a cigarette only to freeze when he heard the sound of his brother's door opening and footsteps crossing the hall and heading down the stairs.

Papyrus didn't move an inch until he heard the front door open and close, creeping to the window and peeking out unseen through the threadbare curtains to look for his brother. Sans's small form stepped out into the street, looked around, and then began heading off in a direction uncommon to a direction he would go for errands.

The attire his brother was wearing was another raised flag; Sans was dressed in his armor, as though to work or do practical training. But Papyrus knew Alphys was currently doing business in the Capitol and had no time for training with Sans, and Sans never went on a job without him.

That cinched it; if Sans was going to be doing something stupid like going on a mercenary job without him, then he was going to follow the little brat and save his coccyx.

Papyrus tugged on his boots and threw on his jacket before heading out of his house after his brother.

His moniker of 'dog' was oddly appropriate, considering his ability to literally track by scent, be it physical or magical; it was child's play tracking his Lord's scent and keeping a long distance to avoid being spotted. He had plenty of experience with that from his own childhood, and it served him well when it was needed. He followed his brother's trail not through the town, but rather into the forest on the offside of Snowdin.

The Snowdin district extended beyond the town itself; there were MILES of forest behind and beyond the town that tapered off from the snow and ended with stone caverns of their Underground home. The odd Monster or two preferred their solitude in these forests, but they were near impossible to find if they didn't want to be found. If Sans had business here...

Well, first and foremost, WHY did Sans have business here?

Papyrus kept his movements smooth and footfalls light, remaining as quiet as he could when one was walking on snow, until the snow began to taper off somewhat from the main snowy district of the Underground. The trees around him grew denser and sound around him was less muffled by the snow, though the canopy of trees above and around him made it more difficult to see anything out of the ordinary.

He had never been quite this far away in the forest, he realized as he carefully side-stepped fallen twigs and stuck to the frost-covered earth, which gave him a sudden path of which he could follow. His Lord's sharp bootprints left a trail in this area with no snowfall to cover the tracks. A bit careless, had Papyrus been someone with ill intent, but he saved that thought for later, walking further in and ducking back behind a tree the moment he heard voices.

He strained his hearing to listen, picking up the distinct sharp tone of his Lord breaking through the heavy silence of the forest, but also picking up another's. He frowned, KNOWING he'd heard this voice before, but couldn't for the life of him remember at this moment. The timbre was higher than Sans's, but less sharp and more smooth, though with a slightly grating tone that commanded respect.

…......oh HELL.

Papyrus's bones rattled with rage as he realized who it was who was speaking.

Another Papyrus. The worst one, from the universe affectionately named 'Fell', whom was non-affectionately monikered 'Edge'. There was no softness to this other version of himself, in any meaning of the word. Everything from his attire to his image was nothing but edges, every piece of him set to kill.

And Papyrus HATED him.

He and Edge were polar opposites. Papyrus willingly prostrated himself before his Lord, indulging in anything they agreed upon which had little to no limits, as far as physical punishments went. He was a true masochist, in every sense of the word; after all, only the truest masochists handed the leash over rather than having it be taken.

Edge, on the other hand, was his foil as the ultimate dominant sadist. This Skeleton was untouchable, commanding even the most basic of respect from the most unwitting of people, Papyrus included. He had a grudging respect for such a commanding force who emitted an aura of dominance that made those of lesser constitutions avert eyes and tremble, and stronger Monsters at very least bend their backs and shut their mouths.

What Papyrus despised about Edge was how he associated with his brother. Sans had a damn near hero worship of the edgelord, and paid more than enough attention whenever the universes collided, much to Papyrus's chagrin. And the way Edge looked at his brother.....it was like looking at an over-eager puppy ready and waiting to break.

Papyrus clenched his hands into fists, calming himself; it would do no good to lose his temper, not here. He was trying to avert being noticed. He let out a heavy breath and loosened his fists before quietly peeking around the tree.

Indeed it was Edge, standing tall and proud with a perfectly-straight back and squared shoulders, listening to Sans speak with crossed arms and an unreadable expression. Papyrus shifted closer in order to hear properly.

“...look he gave me...I couldn't help myself, I simply stopped,” Sans was saying, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, as he often did when working himself up over something. “It wasn't something I was used to seeing.”

Papyrus saw Edge nod. “It's understandable,” the other said. “Delving out of your comfort zone takes time, and yes, a firm hand. But dear little Black...” He uncrossed his arms, reaching out and dipping his sharp clawed glovetips under Sans's jaw, tipping the smaller's face up. “You'll never properly break the unruly mutt if you stay your hand at every little pathetic whimper.”

Seeing Edge put so much as a finger on his brother almost tore a snarl from Papyrus. He clenched his hands into the tree, grinding his teeth together as he forced himself to CALM DOWN.

Sans sighed, averting his eyelights as he scowled. “Yes, I know,” he replied wearily. “It's something to get used to. But he fights me every single step! It's like he doesn't WANT to be dominated anymore!”

Edge actually smiled, the image almost terrifying on his sharpened teeth. “Perhaps,” he replied in a conceding tone, “but perhaps he needs...other methods.” His voice took on an almost purring tone as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a length of thin chain rope, the very kind Sans had in his own pocket earlier. “A firm hand requires and even stronger arm. And one good hard swing to get right into the bone.”

Edge threw the chain out, snapping a branch right from a log on the ground, and likewise Papyrus felt realization snap into place in his mind.

_This bastard had been teaching Sans his own brand of 'domination'._

Papyrus should have realized sooner; Edge kept his own brother under his sharp heel with those very demeaning, silencing techniques. Perhaps that worked in some fucked up way in Fell, but HERE, things worked differently, and Edge had no place to put his disgusting sharp claws into it.

He smothered back a growl as best he could, feeling his body tremble with rage as Edge handed over the chain and drilled Sans on technique that would inflict the most pain with the minimal amount of damage, or effort on the part of the hand inflicting it.

“You have a very good arm,” Edge said, stepping closer. “However, you expend too much energy with the swing by using JUST your arm.” He reached out, putting one hand on Sans's shoulder with the other on Sans's waist. “Use your hips when you throw, you wont have to use your arm quite so much.”

Papyrus's peripheral was starting to go red as he watched Edge physically re-position his brother's posture and movements, wanting to break every little bone in those lingering hands until dust would be considered too coarse to the end result of how Papyrus would leave him. His phalanges made dents in the tree bark as he watched, fighting between his instincts and his role in this universe—to his Lord—and neither side coming up strongest.

“You're doing remarkably well,” Edge's grating voice was saying, the tone resonating with a purr that seemed out of place with what it was he was supposedly doing with Sans, but accompanied well with the hands that refused to be budged from the smaller Skeleton's frame in near-inappropriate places. “Soon your barking dog will be heeling on cue at your every command.”

Sans nodded, his cerulean eyelights gleaming with anticipation. “He really does need it,” he replied. “Such an effort to train him, though.”

Edge smirked, his hands pressing into Sans's frame as he placed himself closer to him. “An effort well worth the payoff,” he replied, leaning down so his skull was close to Sans's. “And trust me, little 'Lord'...” His clawed glovetips tipped just under the waistline of Sans's leather pants. “...I can assure you that the pleasure will be like nothing you've ever experienced.”

Sans's cheekbones turned dark blue, his frame visibly shuddering even from where Papyrus was viewing, and right now the elder brother felt enough hot rage to melt snow. He was frozen in his rage, unable to tear himself away from the tree to stop his brother being pawed at by the edgelord. He could only watch as his Sans became a blushing mess in that bastard's hands, recalling past incidences and errors that needed CORRECTING, and could only assume this to be added to the collection of terrors past.

Edge was not shy in his fondling, not in the least, using Sans's near-addictive taste for pleasure to his advantage as his hand trailed around to Sans's front, lightly tracing a clawtip over the decorative belt buckle. “You worry far too much about that beast,” he purred, his other hand rubbing over Sans's scapula tenderly. “Pushing yourself far too much just to get a little obedience out of him. Just imagine how much BETTER it will be once he's properly put in his place.”

And to Papyrus's outrage, Edge glanced across the clearing and looked Papyrus dead in the eyelights, is grin broadening downright EVILLY as his hand dipped shallowly into the front of Sans's pants. He nuzzled at Sans's skull as the smaller Skeleton let out a breathy moan, and kept his eyelights locked with his counterpart as a dark red ectoplasmic tongue slithered out from between his sharpened teeth and dragged itself over Sans's cervical bones.

In a white-hot flash of outrage, Papyrus teleported himself right up to Edge, slashing out with his hand in a desperate bid to claw the fucker's eyelights right out of his sockets, and snarled when the bastard only jerked out of the way, stepping out of range with infuriating gracefulness, his composure never faltering. Papyrus snatched his brother behind him, his right eyelights almost bleeding vindictive magic, barely contained from lashing out.

“What the FUCK are you doing to my brother!?” he snarled, his body tensed to go right for Edge's proverbial throat at any moment. “How DARE you touch him, you—“

“PAPYRUS!” Sans's sharp voice cut through as he jerked away from his brother, that childish demeanor bleeding through that Papyrus DESPISED. “What the hell are you doing here! Did you FOLLOW me!?”

Papyrus growled, stepping to the side to again shield his brother from Edge's view. “Of course I did!” he snapped back. “Is THIS what you've been up to? Associating with THIS asshole?!”

“It's not any of your business, trash!” Sans spat, his hands clenching at his sides. “It is mine, and mine ALONE! Get the hell out of here and get back home!”

Papyrus stared at his brother, feeling a beastly rage boil in his soul. “Are you INSANE, Sans!?” he exclaimed, his voice almost cracking from the incredulous absurdity of it all. “I'm not leaving you alone here with his disgusting deviant! He's been poisoning you—US, Sans! This is NOT how we operate here, and you KNOW it—“ He was cut off by a kick to the knee and a slap to the face, sending him to the ground. Papyrus felt his emotions fluctuate between hurt and LIVID as Edge stepped back around into view, arms crossed and looking particularly pleased with himself.

“A real shame that's how he speaks to his master,” Edge drawled, shaking his head with a tsk-tsk. Sans's hands clenched tightly, glowering down at Papyrus with childish indignation.

“I'm going to fix that,” he said with utmost conviction. “I've had enough of him acting like some wild beast. I have no use for a thing like that.”

Papyrus felt something in his soul SNAP.

Oh, he'd had this feeling many times before. Incidences with his father. Lowlife thugs who thought they could use and abuse the brothers for their own means.

And times when his brother was being an absolute BITCH.

Papyrus lurched out and pounced on Sans, roughly grabbing onto his brother with no regard to how much it had to hurt as he manhandled him to the ground, fumbling only once before grabbing and forcefully turning Sans onto his front. He twisted his brother's arms behind his back and held the wrists painfully tight in his hand, using the other to grab onto Sans's skull and shove it to the dirt, a beastlike growl vibrating through his frame and into Sans's.

“You want a wild beast?” he rumbled, grinding Sans's skull into the ground. “I'll SHOW you a WILD. FUCKING. BEAST.”

Paying no heed to his doppleganger, Papyrus let go of Sans's skull to reach down and tear his brother's leather pants down, twisting the bound arms hard when Sans struggled. Already, through that disgusting counterpart's ministrations, his brother's magic had already formed a dripping mound ready and waiting. He paid no mind to Sans's piercing curses and screams, and gave no warning before shoving his own pants down and thrusting into his brother hard.

Sans's screams grew louder and more agonized, his shoulders dislocating from the violent thrashing he made in a bid to get away. Papyrus only tightened his bruising, crushing hold on Sans's wrists, shoving Sans's face in the dirt again as he drove into him mindlessly, giving no heed to affection or comfort.

He was doing this to prove a POINT.

That Lords should be acting with honor and decorum, not DISGRACEFUL childishness!

Sans would learn. Oh yes, he'd learn.

If Papyrus had to reteach this lesson a million more times, then a million more times he'd do it!

Papyrus's didn't let up his grip or his violent pace for what seemed like hours, and by the time he felt himself close to climax, his brother already unwittingly came four times and had gone limp in Papyrus's grasp. At long last, Papyrus drove into his brother hard, growling loudly as he came and splattered his brother's bones and clothes.

_Glorious._

Papyrus took a moment to catch his breath before letting go of his brother's wrists, licking his teeth as he surveyed his brother.

Sans slumped onto the ground, limp as a rag doll, his frame twitching slightly from overstimulation and agony. His wrists were cracked and broken, both humeri nearly completely detached from his scapula, and his skull covered in dirt and grime, even in the nasal passage and mouth from where he'd most likely gotten his taste of the earth from his screaming. Tear tracks were visible through the soiled face, and Sans's eye sockets still were brimming with dampness.

Truly a pathetic sight to behold, Papyrus thought to himself bitterly. His Lord was getting weak and sloppy, if it only took this long to bring him to this state. Papyrus fished around in his jacket for a cigarette, lighting it up and taking a drag as he deftly looked around.

Notably, the edgy asshole was gone, back to his own shitty universe and his own submissive brother to play with. He ground his teeth into his cigarette, making a mental note to tear out a handful of vertebrae from the fucker's spine next time he saw him.

For now though...

Papyrus allowed himself several minutes to finish off his cigarette, not in any hurry to tidy himself up and scoop his limp brother into his arms.

_'One day,'_ he thought, staring down at his brother, _'you WILL learn, m'Lord.'_

* * *

 

Papyrus spared no detail or dedication to his Lord's recovery. Tender healing sessions, hot bathings, and tucking into silk sheets was the culmination of the next several days past that incident in the forest. Papyrus was unconcerned about Sans's unresponsive state despite his little Lord's consciousness; it only took some wonderful, tender loving care from his servant to coax him out of it.

Papyrus would wake up and sit his Lord up in bed every morning, coax some food into him at appropriate mealtimes, and spend the rest of the day curled against him, lavishing soft skull-pets and extra tender healing touches on his arms and wrists, where Papyrus knew the magic was still sore.

His dedication paid off when his Lord lifted a hand and gently petted his skull after a healing session. Papyrus closed his eye sockets and purred, his frame rattling softly as he felt the small hand atop his skull stroke and pet lightly, reveling in the soft thrum of magic between them. He heard Sans take a deep, almost shuddery breath and then exhale heavily, knowing that his Lord had returned to lucidity.

And he remained silent. Waiting.

“...I need a bath,” Sans said quietly, though his voice was level and firm. “Draw one for me, would you pet?”

Papyrus's smiled broadened, lifting his head and taking his Lord's small hand in his own larger ones before kissing it.

“As you wish, m'Lord.”

* * *

 

Nothing of what happened was spoken between them. Absently, Papyrus wondered if Sans even remembered, or if it was buried away only to surface as odd feelings from time to time, as the past dictated may be the case.

But Sans recovered well. His strength returned and his will hardened once more into his rightful Lordly demeanor. A work day came, and his outfit was put on, adornments added, and Sans didn't spare a single glance at the chain leash sitting on the table as he headed to the front door.

“Do not make us late, mutt!” he called, waiting until Papyrus had finally made his way over before leaving their house and heading off toward Hotland, his pace brisk and commanding with Papyrus's gait slow with long strides.

And to anyone who had bothered to pay attention, they saw that for the first time in months, the two were walking side-by-side.

Exactly as it should be.

 


End file.
